


What Remains of You

by Alkarinque



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Fëanorian Week 2018, Hallucinations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 15:12:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkarinque/pseuds/Alkarinque
Summary: A Fingon that should be dead has questions for Maedhros, and Maedhros tries to find his bravery to answer without unveiling to himself what the other really is.





	What Remains of You

”Tell me; why did you seek me, dear cousin?”

Maedhros did not hide his frown, nor did he straighten up from his slouched position in his chair. _Manners_ , he thought, _does not matter anymore, for when do you need to show manners now, when no one thinks you are able?_ Still a part of him whispered; _but this is Fingon!_

Fingon stood before him, steady as he always had been. His eyes showed a hidden nervousness, a decision not yet decided, and Maedhros wondered what ghosts had clouded his cousin's eyes. For the light he remembered had dimmed in those grey eyes, and the brows had gotten a mournful streak. The golden braids were fewer than Maedhros remembered; he only spotted five in the dark-brown hair. And the face – O! the face, Maedhros thought grimly –, he could not decide wether it had grown or mourned or cried, for it had turned older in the weak lines around the eyes and mouth, but it had also sunk as if sorrow burdened it. _His features is a map over his life,_ Maedhros thought, _the dimples shows laughter, laughter they had laughed together far away in the Blessed Realm, the mouth shows sorrow and desperation from the Ice, the eyes shows the burden here in Middle-Earth._

”To ask a question, dear cousin. A question you shall answer with honesty.”

 _Somewhere along the road he learned to demand,_ the realisation stung though Maedhros knew not why.

”So ask; though I know not what you could possibly need an answer to now, so many questions you have already asked since you saved me.”

He was cruel, Maedhros knew he was cruel to speak so coldly of his rescue. He was not ungrateful, no, how could he ever be ungrateful over his brave cousin – yes, his valiant, great cousin – who had risked his life, wandered straight into the Enemy's fortress just to save him?

Fingon stepped closer and bent down so his face was at the same height as Maedhros'. Maedhros closed his eyes and felt the warm breath against his cheek and nose. He could feel the grey eyes – still, _where is the light, dear cousin, where is your inner light?_ whispered a thought swiftly – stroke his features; his scar over his nose, the lips bent into a bitter line, the brows shadowing his closed eyes, the hundreds of paling freckles, the sharp cheekbones and the nearly hollow cheeks. For indeed Maedhros had recovered, but sorrows and bitterness had groped out his features once again.

”I ask, cousin; whom do you love?” Fingon waited a moment before he added: ”Do you love me?”

Maedhros' heart jumped and cramped. _Love, love, love,_ shadows whispered in unison, _do you love him? Can you love still?_ Thoughts climbed over each other and fell and crashed and blended in a colourless mass of words, and Maedhros could not bring his lips to say that one word which would have been a obvious answer decades ago. The one he had whispered to himself in the light of Telperion, training himself to know the word like he knew himself, so that he would be prepared for the day his cousin asked.

(Because of course it would be his cousin who asked; never could it be him when there was Fingon with his light and steadfast spirit. Never could he have asked, no, he was a coward. And Fingon wasn't. Fingon the Valiant was never a coward.)

But now with the dim daylight – or moonlight, no day nor night mattered anymore when it was darkness his mind was clouded in – and the warm breath at his cheeks, he forgot the word, lost it in the colourless mass of thousands. He opened his eyes to the grey world beyond, and was met with slouched shoulders and the realisation that _too late, too late, hope is lost, the chance is gone._

 _Just like us, cousin, just like the light in your eyes,_ he thought absently in the back of his head, and the thought soon faded away like sunlight through fog.

”Have love left you, dear cousin, is that why? Or is it me you never loved?” the words didn't cut like they should, and Maedhros frowned.

”Nay, never, never do I not love you, valiant son of Fingolfin”, he said now when his tongue suddenly could move and form words he wanted to say, those he never said, those he forgot or abandoned or burned to crisps and cursed.

Something settled in his cousin's eyes at his words. He had said the right thing, for once. Like in a play, and he was an actor who for once said his right line. Fingon straightened up, and looked down on him, before he said;

”So say the words, cousin, say you love me. Say them now before I must leave you.”

 _Don't say them too late, as you have so many times before,_ voices continued to remind him in his head and Maedhros swallowed. He avoided his cousin's eyes, as if they would be able to pierce his fëa if he dared to look. _Say them, what stops me?_

”Maedhros! Come out now, for our brothers seek us!”

A strange voice outside the tent and _no, no, no, don't break the spell, not just yet._

He licked his lips and straightened up to finally meet his cousin while panic rose in his breast. Fingon still stood there, now with a weak glimt of gentleness in his eyes, and Maedhros could see the blood on the dirty armour as it glimmed in the weak light of his tent, and how the blue fabric was torn and burned.

”I love you, dear Fingon; I love you.”

He looked without blinking into the grey eyes, and they did the same. Fingon's posture became relaxed and he seemed to want to laugh. A smile graced the lips, a smile with no bitterness but only joy. Maedhros smiled back, though something in his heart stung but he could not think of a reason why.

”Now, cousin, did you have any more questions? Before I leave?” Fingon's smile did not cease at his question, and Maedhros found it easy to ignore the pain in his heart with the warmth swelling in his gut.

”Maedhros! Do you not hear me? Come now, before Celegorm once again have found yet another way to entertain Curufin with Caranthir's poor temper.”

Maedhros ignored Maglor's voice even though the pain in his heart seemed to increase. His cousin did not move before him and Maedhros did not take his eyes off him.

”I do, dear Maedhros”, Fingon sobered up and his face darkened and suddenly Maedhros was afraid.

”Why did you not _save_ me, cousin dearest?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Feanorian week and it is an old text I found and thought I could use. Since it is old, I didn't have the energy to properly go through it and English is not my native language, there are probably plenty of mistakes. It would be nice if someone told me of them so I can fix them!


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